Owned
by cyrilandshirley
Summary: Another bit of old Brendan/Ste fluff, not uploaded to FF before.


_Hello again, and here's another bit of really old fluff for the FF crowd on bank holiday weekend. I'm happy there are still some people out there enjoying this stuff. I loved writing this one SO much, I just got a massive wave of nostalgia reading it. Definitely one of my faves. Anyway, here you go, thanks for the lovely comments, even if I only know you as Guests and can't say thanks personally. My tumblr, if you want it, is makeyourownglasnost, but there's not much on there really. _

**Owned**

_More of the happies …_

Ste woke up, stirred, and opened his eyes, just enough to suss out where he was. He groaned. Brendan's bedroom. Not a bad thing, he just … couldn't remember very much about the previous night. He felt disoriented. His tongue felt furry. He had a vague memory that they had had a good time, but couldn't fill in many of the details. All he knew was, right now, he was sprawled face down on the bed, completely naked, the covers pushed back to his hips, just covering his buttocks. The other side of the bed was empty, but rumpled. He propped himself up on his elbows, gingerly, and listened out. There was the sound of the radio on. Someone in the kitchen making breakfast. Someone singing, slightly tunelessly, to himself.

_I try to discover a little something to make me sweeter  
Oh baby  
refrain from breaking my heart  
I'm so in love with you  
I'll be forever blue  
That you gimme no reason why you make me work so hard_

Ste blinked. Had he been making Brendan work hard for this, recently? Maybe just a bit. But something felt different this morning. There was something around his neck that wasn't usually there. He frowned and looked down at his chest. Brendan's cross. The one he always wore. It was dangling down, bumping against the light hair of his own chest. He used his arms to push himself up to kneeling, and examined it. He half smiled. A flashback from last night. Brendan's voice.

_This is mine … and this is mine … and THIS is mine …_

Brendan lifting the cross to his lips, and taking the chain off over his head. Putting it over Ste's, and then lowering Ste down on to his back. Dipping his head down between Ste's legs, and burying his mouth in Ste's groin. He shuddered a bit at the memory of it. He was so fucking possessive, Brendan. Ste spent half his life fighting to prove his independence, and the other half being insanely turned on by the way that Brendan expected him to belong to him so completely.

He got off the bed and went to stand, naked, in front of the mirror. He put his head on one side and admired himself, standing there wearing just the cross on the chain. He supposed he'd have to give it back. But it looked good. He felt more of a man than he ever had. He'd felt so lumpy and awkward, for so much of his life. Now, he looked in the mirror, stretching and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, and he saw the person he'd been trying to be for a long time. And the cross. He wasn't religious, much. He hadn't thought about it a great deal, though he knew love was a good thing, if you had the actions to back it up. But it was complicated. Good people could do bad things. Bad people could do good things. You had the power to make a choice. But it made him feel protected, that chain. Maybe it was just the knowledge that someone thought he was worth protecting. It was good, that. It wasn't given lightly by Brendan, that, or taken lightly by him. They'd both struggled with it. But now … yeah, it felt good.

He turned round to grab his discarded boxers from the bed, still lying where they'd landed when Brendan peeled them off him the night before. As he did, he looked briefly over his shoulder into the mirror again. And that was when he saw it. His arse.

What. The …?

Seriously?

_S'NADNERB_ it said. Across his butt cheeks. In black marker pen.

Snadnerb? What the fuck?

* * *

It had started with the glasses. Ste had walked into the office and found Brendan beside the filing cabinet, his shirt sleeves rolled, looking for something in a drawer. Ste came up behind him, quietly, and wrapped his arms round him, one draped over his shoulder, and one curled around his waist, and pressed his chin against Brendan's shoulder. Brendan hesitated for less than a second, and then carried on with what he was doing.

"Hello, Stephen," he said.

"How did you know it was me?" Ste asked him.

Brendan drawled, amused. "Well, it's either you, or Foxy's getting very familiar."

Ste laughed. Brendan turned his head slightly round towards him, and Ste saw for the first time that he was wearing glasses.

Ste stopped and broke into a smile. "What's them?" He walked round to Brendan's side to take a better look.

Brendan looked back at him through them. He looked kind of … hot. He was wearing that expression that told Ste he was feeling uncomfortable, but would never admit it in a million years.

"What does it look like, Stephen?"

Ste grinned at him. "You getting old?"

A muscle twitched in Brendan's cheek. "For your information, I only need them for reading."

Ste appraised him for a minute, and nodded, suppressing a smile. "OK. You never told me you got glasses, though."

Brendan put the folder down on top of the filing cabinet, took off the glasses, and tossed them on top. He turned to Stephen and folded his arms, leaning his shoulder against the cabinet.

"Maybe I don't tell you everything, ever think of that?" Brendan said, giving Ste an appreciative look, his head tilted on one side. Ste could tell he was wrestling back control of the conversation. A lot of their life felt like this, wrestling for dominance, and then giving up and calling truce. It was a kind of game that was fun to play but that you never really wanted to resolve one way or the other.

Ste folded his arms in return. Frowned. "Right. Well, I'm knocking off early," he said, with that cocky edge he adopted sometimes.

"Is that right?" Brendan asked, his eyebrows going up, his accent thickening as it sometimes did when he was being sarcastic. "Am I not paying you here, Stephen? Your ass is mine, remember."

He knew as soon as he saw Ste roll his eyes that this, somehow, was the wrong thing to say.

"I'm your boyfriend, Brendan, remember? And your barman. Not your slave." He unfolded his arms and started to move away. "Anyway, I'm off." He could be fucking contrary sometimes.

"Where the hell are ye going?" Brendan asked him, his voice rising with exasperation.

Ste paused with a hand on the door. Gave him a defiant, teasing look. "Maybe I don't have to tell you everything, either. Ever think of that?"

Brendan sighed. He'd walked into that. He went over to him, put a hand on the door, and looked Stephen directly in the eye.

"You gonna tell me what's up with you today, Stephen? Or do I have to guess?"

Ste wrinkled his nose. But he gave in straight away. He shrugged. "S'nothing, really. I gotta sit Lucas for a few hours. He's got a bug and Amy's got to go out."

Brendan backtracked, immediately. "Right … yeah," he said. "Yeah … you have to go then, sure." He took his hand off the door to let Ste out. Damn, that was unanswerable. The kids always came first. He should have thought. "You'll come back to the flat tonight though, yeah?"

Ste pretty much lived at Brendan's half the time these days. He raised his eyebrows. "If Lucas is all right," Ste said, "then yeah. Maybe." He pulled the door open, and gave Brendan a last look, a flash of blue from under his eyelashes. "But don't wait up." And he walked out of the office, leaving Brendan to watch his retreating back.

Brendan raised his eyes to the ceiling, and then shoved his hands into his pockets. Shit. Sometimes, he just didn't know what it was Stephen wanted from him. It bugged him. He always seemed to be slipping out of his grasp at the moment. He hadn't been in a long-term relationship with anyone for a very long time. Sometimes, with Stephen, it just seemed to come easy, almost too easy. They had their own language for communicating with each other, a code that was partly bodies and sex, and partly jokes and looks and just a way of touching, the way that Ste would come to him in the office, the way he just had. And sometimes, he had no clue what was in his head, and they would be suddenly completely at odds. It was like living with storms and sunshine.

He walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink, sitting down to stare it into submission. He ran a hand over his eyes. Was he getting too old for this? To try to start all over again with someone so much younger?

A body landed itself on the stool beside him.

"Aye aye. Woman trouble?"

It was the bulky figure of Warren Fox. Brendan turned his head to give him the death stare.

"That's … funny, really. You're a funny guy."

Unfortunately, Warren was the only person on the planet who was impervious to the death stare. He had the hide of an elephant. He shrugged. Smirked.

"Girls … lads … what's the difference?" he said. Then grinned. "Apart from the obvious. I saw Hotlips on his way out. What've you done to him now?"

Brendan took a swig of his drink. "Nothing," he muttered, between his teeth.

Warren's face lit up. "Hey, maybe he's broody. Can't you buy him a puppy or something?"

Take me now, Brendan thought, martyred. I cannot be having this conversation with Warren Fox. But he forced himself to turn his head and look back at him. "I am _not_ buying him a dog." And yet, strangely, he found himself filing this away mentally for future reference. Maybe. When the kids were older. He imagined Stephen taking it for walks around the village. Yeah. Definitely one for the maybe file.

Warren shrugged again. "Please yourself. Get him some flowers then. They love flowers, the ladies."

Brendan let his patience and some of his composure run out. "I'm not getting him flowers, Foxy! He's a bloke! Blokes don't want flowers." He shook his head, in disbelief.

Warren was unperturbed. He sucked in air between his teeth, and clicked his tongue. "You tell yourself that if you like, mate, but you never saw his face when I brought that bunch of roses in for Mitzeee. Jealous as fuck. Big sad eyes."

Brendan looked at him, sceptical.

"You have to treat 'em, Brady," Warren said, holding out his hands. "Make 'em feel special. Believe you me, flowers is the way to go. Quick trip to the florist, and you'll be getting your leg over tonight. Or whatever it is … you fellas do." He winked, obscene. Then patted Brendan on the leg, eased himself off the stool, and wandered away into the office, chuckling.

Brendan sat, frozen in a kind of horror. Was he really being given relationship advice … by Foxy? Really? What the fuck did he know about keeping someone happy?

Flowers?

He shook his head. "No," he said, aloud. "No … just, no."

And yet strangely, after leaving the bar a couple of hours later in Warren's less than reliable hands, he found himself wandering by the shop on his way over to check in on Stephen. He just needed to get some gum, he told himself. Yet he still found himself stopping by the bucket where they kept the flowers. He stared down at it. It was late in the day, and they had one bunch left. It was, frankly, a bit sad. Yellow and white chrysanthemums. A couple of the stems a bit broken. Nothing like the fancy bouquets he'd bought for Cheryl, or for Eileen, when he'd been trying to distract them from the latest fuck-up in his life. And still … there was something about them. They reminded him of something. He realised what it was. They reminded him of Stephen. Specifically, that horrific bright yellow and white check shirt he'd turned up in one day, thinking he looked fly, and Brendan hadn't known whether to laugh, or to walk over there, unbutton it slowly and deliciously, push it off him, and carry him into the office to lick him all over and then consume him. But they hadn't quite been in that place, back then. He'd settled for taking the piss out of him. He'd enjoyed that, that time when he would tease him, and Stephen would blush, and then smile, all unknowing. He'd seemed so innocent, even though he wasn't really. He was always a knowing little scrote. A chancer. But he'd been innocent of what Brendan was offering him. One thing was sure, anyway. He certainly wasn't innocent now. Not when Brendan remembered some of the things Stephen liked to do now, or for Brendan to do to him. But part of him missed the yellow shirt. It had been sort of wide-eyed, and hopeful. He never wore it now. He went for a smarter, sexier look.

Brendan reached down and pulled the flowers out of the bucket, shaking drips off the stems. He walked over to the counter and slapped them down, with the gum. Frankie Osborne was serving. She gave him a look which was meant to be flirtatious, but ended up looking lecherous.

"Oo," she said, with a giggle that could split atoms, "Who's the lucky fella?"

Brendan gritted his teeth. He made a mental note not to use the local shop in future for his romantic needs. He fought an overwhelming desire to abort mission and get this woman out of his business. But instead, he just put a fiver down on the counter, and a pile of change. And walked out, silently, clutching the flowers, stalking grimly off towards the estate.

Standing outside Stephen's door, he actually felt nervous. Ridiculous. He'd thought they were past all this, surely. Edging around each other. Man up, he told himself, and knocked. Strange how his nerves evaporated when Stephen appeared in the door, a snuffling Lucas on his hip. The sight of Stephen, his face, his figure, his expression, always confirmed one thing. This was the person he wanted to be with. The person he loved. Inconvenient, but inescapable. Luckily, Stephen had never much been one for hiding his feelings, of any kind. He was a heart on sleeve kind of person. He was trying to hold back, now, but the way his lips parted when he saw Brendan gave away that he was glad to see him. He adopted the cocky tone again to try to hide it.

"Hello," he said, eyebrows raised, looking Brendan up and down, and then, "Oh."

He'd seen the flowers dangling head down from Brendan's hand. Brendan felt a momentary spasm of awkwardness, cleared his throat, and then held them out, right in front of him.

"Got you these," he said.

Stephen looked a bit amazed. "For me? Wow." He took them out of necessity, and Brendan watched a blush spread over his face. He turned to the baby to distract them both. "Look what Uncle Brendan got for Daddy, Lucas." But when he turned back to Brendan, he was half-smiling. "You'd best come in, then."

"OK," Brendan said. "Good." And pushed past Stephen into the flat.

Stephen put Lucas back down on the floor with his toys, and straightened up. "I never thought you'd buy me flowers," he said.

Brendan shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked at him. "Never knew you'd want me to."

Ste toyed with them a bit, touching the petals. "No, me neither." He looked back up at Brendan. "Noah bought me flowers, once. It didn't feel like this, though."

"No?" Brendan shifted, uncomfortably. He imagined a massive bouquet, with ribbons, which knocked a bunch of dime-store chysanths in crappy cellophane into a cocked hat. That dick Noah had always been making fancy gestures like that. It was all Paris, and flowers, and croissants. Brendan was more Blackpool, and beer, and burgers. He made a mental note to himself to do something more special. Dublin. He'd take him to Dublin, splash out. But Ste just wandered over to him, and stood close for a second.

"No," he said. "Cos that was nothing, from him. But I know this must have cost you. So thanks." He leant up and kissed Brendan on the cheek, quick and unexpected. And then he wandered away into the kitchen area to put them in some water in the sink.

Brendan followed him over. He felt, immediately, that whatever it was that had been out of whack was slipping back into place. He slid his arms around Stephen's waist, put his lips against Stephen's neck, and felt him mould his body back against him.

"Gonna tell me what I said that upset ye, then?" Brendan asked him, nipping the nape of his neck.

Ste shook his head. Then turned round in Brendan's arms to face him, and looked at him. "I just don't like it when you talk like you own me. You wanna own me, you're gonna have to own up to it a bit more. You know we've never once been out on a date?" He tilted his chin up towards Brendan.

Brendan looked at him, baffled. "We've been out loads …" he started.

"We've been out to the Dog," Stephen asserted. "We've taken the kids out. We've been out for a drive. We've eaten in. They don't count. We've never gone out as each other's date."

"Right," Brendan said, uncertain. "A date?"

Stephen nodded at him. His face was unexpectedly serious. Brendan looked down into it, for a moment. He was irresistible, really. He was finding it harder and harder to deny him anything. Lucas started to grizzle a bit on the floor, and Ste made to move towards him, but Brendan pinned him to the sink for a moment. He made a sudden decision. Best not think about it too much.

"What time does Amy get back?" he asked Ste.

"Next ten minutes," Ste said back to him. "Why?"

Brendan turned away and bent down to scoop up Lucas himself. He turned back. "Best go and get your glad rags on, then," he said. "And we'll hit the town."

Ste looked at him in amazement. "What, really?"

Brendan looked back at him. "Well, yeah, unless you want to spend your night in with Lucas and a Balamory DVD." His eyes strayed to the DVD player, where several boxes were strewn around.

Amy chose this exact moment to let herself back in the door, leading Leah by the hand. She clocked the situation and immediately adopted the polite but wary expression she normally wore around Brendan these days. This was what they called "being civil."

"Oh, hello," she said, just the very slightest edge to her voice at the sight of Brendan holding her youngest, even though he was now gurgling happily and slapping his hands against the lapels of Brendan's jacket.

"Amy," he returned the acknowledgement.

She sent Leah to go and sit down and went to the sink to get her a drink.

"What are these?" she asked, registering the flowers.

"Brendan got them me," Ste said.

She turned her head over her shoulder to look at Brendan and raised her eyebrows. "Price Slice? Classy."

Brendan fought manfully with an overwhelming desire to throw sarcasm back at her. But Stephen jumped in to prevent disaster.

"It's the thought that counts," Stephen said. And the look that he gave Brendan told him that it had been worth it. Then he changed the subject, quickly. "Right then," he said, "I'll go and get changed." He backed away and disappeared into the bedroom that Brendan had spent a fair bit of enjoyable time in.

"You going out?" Amy asked Brendan, curiously, giving Leah her drink and then taking Lucas out of Brendan's arms. She looked a bit sceptical.

"Yes," he said.

She looked at him. "What, out out?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes."

There was an awkward pause, while she let a smile creep over her face. "Well," she said. "Have a _really _good time."

"Yeah," Brendan was left to say, watching as she took Lucas off to put him to bed, knowing that she was probably loving this.

But strange how when Stephen appeared, washed and combed and golden-skinned, with product in his hair, and his best polo, a well-fitting one that skimmed the new muscles of his body, and good jeans, he no longer gave one single damn what Amy thought about anything. Or Frankie Osborne. Or Warren Fox. He was taking Stephen out, and they would have a good time, and they would end up in bed together. That was what this was all about, when it came down to it. And he would still be there in the morning. That was always a bonus.

"We going, then?" Stephen asked him, grinning.

"Let's do it," Brendan said.

And they headed off into the evening, to push at a few more boundaries, and to find out what happened when they did.

* * *

As Ste pulled his boxers up over his apparently now tattooed backside, and wandered around the room looking for his other clothes, he started to piece together the previous night. It had been a surprise. One minute he'd been wiping Lucas's snotty nose, and feeling a bit sorry for the both of them, the next Brendan had been at his door with a bunch of slightly wilted flowers that were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, because of the guy whose hand was at the end of them. He had glowed with pleasure. Then Brendan had gone completely nuts. Or normal, depending on how you looked at it. They'd gone out.

Italian restaurant, first. Brendan had ordered wine, and then they had got stuck into massive dishes of pasta. Brendan seemed to know the guy who owned it, tipping heavily to get good service. Ste had sat opposite and looked at him, in surprise. It was practically a miracle. He was almost relaxed. He leant forward, his arms on the table, asked about the kids, and mentioned his, and then they ended up talking about the club, and then Brendan had started stabbing his pasta when he mentioned Warren's name, and they'd ended up taking the piss out of him, Ste making up names and laughing, and knowing that Brendan was trying hard not to smile, but not completely succeeding. Their feet had met, under the table, a few times. Ste had pressed his shoe against the side of Brendan's, smart, shiny, and had been amazed that he didn't pull it away. He was pretty sure that he'd felt a returning pressure, but that might have been an accident. He'd contemplated running his foot up Brendan's leg, but didn't want to push his luck. Next time, he thought to himself, sucking up some spaghetti while Brendan rolled his eyes at his table manners. OK, maybe they had both sunk a fair bit of wine. But if that's what Brendan needed to get past this, then Ste felt he could live with it.

And then a club. A mixed club, sure, not totally like the places Ste had got used to. Dark, and busy, a place where you couldn't help but be pressed up against each other, really. And the music loud, so you had to lean in very close to each other to hear what was being said. There had been cocktails, he remembered, frowning a bit. On top of the wine they'd already had. And then it had all started to get a bit hazy, it was all thumping music and coloured lights, and Brendan's body very close, and it had been pretty much heaving, and … Brendan had danced with him.

Ste froze, his T shirt in his hand. He wondered if he'd imagined it. But he was pretty sure he hadn't. He was pretty sure he remembered spinning round and saying he was going to dance, and grabbing Brendan's hand, and only a bit of resistance, and then them going for it. Fucking hell. Brendan had danced with him. In a club. Fuck. He must really love me, Ste found himself thinking, to do that. He bit his lip.

And then there had been a taxi ride, Brendan's leg pressed up against his. And then they had been back at Brendan's flat, he'd been laughing, as Brendan backed him into the bedroom, clothes already starting to fall, pulling off his polo shirt as the back of Ste's knees hit the bed. Ste had thrown the shirt aside in a rush, and it had knocked over a lamp.

"Watch it, Stephen," Brendan had crooned, into his neck, "that's mine."

"Oh, yeah?" Stephen had asked him, inclining his head so Brendan could kiss along his neck and shoulder. "Does everything have to be yours, Brendan?"

He had heard Brendan give that funny, amused crooning noise. He had pulled back and looked into Stephen's face, and then kissed him, long and slow. Brendan's hands had been at his belt, his jeans, unbuckling and pushing them off.

_Well, this is mine_, Brendan had said, close into Ste's mouth, taking another kiss, and Ste had just looked at him between half open eyes, insanely turned on. _And this is mine … and this is mine …_

The sex had been amazing, Ste remembering himself with his forehead down on his arms and moaning as Brendan pounded into him from behind, slow and languorous at first, taking his time, and finishing fast and rough, and them coming together and collapsing forwards, Brendan across his back. And lying there for a while, sticky. And then Brendan suddenly getting off the bed, and strolling leisurely to the side to fetch something. And coming back, straddling Stephen from behind, pinning his legs.

_And this is mine …_ he'd said, with a sound of deep satisfaction in his voice, as if he'd earned something.

And Ste had felt the tickle of something being written on his arse.

He only remembered laughing. And then Brendan coming to lie beside him again. And having an arm looped round him, and thinking, I fucking love him. I fucking love him. He might have said it out loud. And then pretty much feeling a warmth wash over him, and falling asleep. It had been a great night.

Suddenly, as he finished dressing, Ste had a thought. He undid his belt again, pushed down his trousers and boxers at the back, and craned his head around. He looked at the marks. Upside down now, but not back to front. He realised what they said. And in spite of everything, he smiled to himself.

* * *

Brendan was sitting at the table, swigging tea with gusto, munching toast, and reading the paper. He seemed ravenous and absorbed. Ste sauntered over and stood beside him. Brendan pushed a just-filled mug of tea over to him without a word.

"Ta," Ste said, and nicked a piece of toast off Brendan's plate.

Brendan looked up at him for a moment. "Few men get away with that, Stephen," he said, but turned back to the paper.

"Yeah," Ste said, "well I'm not most men, am I?"

Brendan seemed to laugh, under his breath. "Remember much about last night?" he asked, casually, turning over the page of the newspaper, and apparently scrutinizing it, his forehead rumpled.

Stephen shrugged. "Not much." Brendan nodded. He seemed relieved. Ste grinned. "I remember you dancing though," he said.

Brendan stroked a hand over his stubbled cheek. "Yeah, well … I've still got some moves," he said. "But this ends here. My sister would never drop it if she knew. It's on a need to know basis."

"And Cheryl …?" Ste started.

"Doesn't need to know," Brendan said, decisively, looking up at him, cocking an eyebrow.

Ste laughed. He leant against Brendan's shoulder while he slurped his tea and ate the stolen toast. Then he suddenly remembered something. He stopped and lifted the cross and chain off over his head.

"Nearly forgot," he said. "I ended up wearing this last night." His voice was teasing. "Not really sure how that happened."

Brendan looked at the chain where Ste left it, pooled on the newspaper in front of him. He gave a sort of grunt, and picked it up in his hand, closing his fist over it, protective.

"Notice anything else … unusual, this morning, Stephen?" He continued to look down at the paper, avoiding eye contact.

Ste shook his head, refusing to take the bait. "Nope, not really. Anyway," he said, straightening up, "I gotta run. My turn to take Lucas again. Amy's got work."

Brendan looked up, now. He hooked an arm around Ste and held him there, his hand going to his backside and pulling him in. "Running away again, Stephen?" he drawled, his eyes seductive.

Ste looked down at him. That possessive thing, again. Damn. There was no denying, it was fucking hot, that Brendan wanted him like that, even if he spent his whole life fighting it.

"As if," he said, and leant over and gave Brendan a playful kiss on the forehead, and then freed himself, as Brendan gave a complacent grunt.

At the door, he turned around.

"Anyway," he said, "I am, y'know…"

"What, Stephen?" Brendan asked him, looking up from his paper with exaggerated lack of interest that didn't completely convince.

Ste cast a quick look back over his shoulder and inclined his head down towards his own backside.

"Yours," he said.

He saw a smile flicker round the corners of Brendan's mouth and eyes, only partly hidden by the tache. He grinned back, and let himself out. And walked off down into the village, with a sense of being owned in just the right way, and BRENDAN'S written loud and clear across his arse.


End file.
